Another Perfect DayOr Not
by Bronze Stone
Summary: Just read to find out!
1. Another Perfect Day

"Dammit! Stand still," the man screamed at the woman. All of a sudden, he felt something on his back. It was sticky, and felt like rope. Then, the man shot into the air, flying toward a wall. THUD! The man hit, and was knocked out. Spider-Man walked out from the shadows, binding up the man in a cocoon of spider silk. The woman the man was trying to mug stumbled for a second, and managed to find some words. "Th-thank you, sir." Spider-Man looked up at her, hoisted the man, now completely encased in his cocoon, onto his shoulder and said, "Just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man! Next time, I suggest staying out of dark alleys at night. They have a bad reputation around here." The woman simply stared as Spider-Man shot some silk from his wrist, and swung valiantly building to building until he was out of sight. "Thank you," the woman whispered once more to no one.  
  
Peter took off his mask and top, stripped down to his underwear, and plopped down on the couch. Man, I'm starving, Peter thought to himself. He got up and began making himself a sandwich. All of a sudden, the phone rang. RIIIIINNG! RIIIIINNG! Startled, Peter picked it up. "Hello?" "Hey, Pete! How's it hangin'?" "Hey Harry. How do you think it's hangin'?" "I think you're in your underwear making a sandwich," Harry said sarcastically. Not realizing the sarcasm, Peter replied, "How'd you know!?" Harry laughed and said, "Dude. You're way too damn predictable." "Oh really?" "Yeah!" "How's this for predictable!" Peter slammed the receiver down, and continued making his sandwich. RIIIIINNG! Peter, now irritated, picked up the phone and yelled, "Dammit, shove the receiver up your ass! I'm tryin' to eat here!" "PARKER!" Jameson's voice screamed from the receiver. "Oh! I'm so sorry Mr. Jameson!" "Don't be, Parker. My own mom tells me to do that." "Uh-huh. So, what? You want some more pictures or what?" "Damn straight. I the sales are starting to drop, and I need grade A meat for tomorrow. I'll give you a day." CLICK! As soon as I'm done with my sandwich. Peter thought. RIIIIING! Peter picked up the receiver. "No, now! Your sandwich can wait!" Jameson's voice shouted, and then hung up. Man, I am too predictable.  
  
Peter set up the camera on it's tripod, put on his mask and costume, and bounded up the wall. The camera, set on detecting movements, snapped picture after picture. Peter bounded up the wall, then back down. He heard a familiar scream; Mary Jane Watson's. Forgetting about the camera, he leapt over the building to see five or six guys hassling MJ in the alleyway. Man, what is it with alleys these days!? Peter thought. He leaned over the side of the building and fired his webbing, pinning one of the guys against a wall. Another guy took out a .44 Magnum revolver, pointed, and shot. Peter's spider-sense went off like an alarm, and everything slowed down, slow enough he saw the hollow-point bullets whiz by him. Peter dodged them all, until the same guy decided a .44 wasn't powerful enough. POPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOP! The man pulled out an Uzi and fired wildly at the spot Peter was a second before. The man looked all around, but not above him. 200 pounds of muscle fell upon him, and started punching him. The other men were just as, if not more, armed than the first man. A flurry of bullets erupted around him. Peter felt something like a punch to the shoulder, and saw that a bullet had passed right through his arm. Leaving a clean, neat hole. Luckily, it only hit the skin and muscle, but never went through any arteries or bone. Peter, now fully enraged, shot webbing from both wrists, as he did with Norman that fateful night. They were pinned against the wall, and Spider-Man walked up slowly and casually, and gave them each a solid punch in the head, which knocked them out. "Hey! You have a knack for saving me! What? You do this as a hobby?" "Close enough."  
  
Two hours later, Peter got home, where his Aunt May was waiting. "Hey, Aunt May. Something wrong?" "No, no. I'm fine. Just bored. Most people think I like sitting around knitting and cooking. I would rather do something fun. Therefore, I came over here. You're a fun person." Peter walked over to the kitchen and poured himself some Coke. "Nah, I'm not fun. I'm too nerdy to be fun," Peter said with a smile. "Not according to Mary Jane. She said you're the funniest person she's ever met!" "No, I just-OW," Peter exclaimed, as the wound under his bandage began to throb. "What's wrong?" Peter lifted his shirt sleeve. "OH, my! What happened?" "Oh, uh, I hurt it biking," Peter said, not letting her know it was a hole, not a scrape. "Well then, looks like I should stay a while. Help you heal." "Sure, I could use the company."  
  
The next morning, Peter dashed out of the house to get to school, but, as always, he was late for the bus. No problem. He ran up to the side of the bus. When he banged on the side of the bus, and it didn't stop, he cautiously looked around, then let out a small amount of webbing, sticking to the back bumper and climbing on, not letting anyone see. He stood on the back bumper, riding the bus to school.  
  
Next chapter: Peter finds out who the gang was and why they were hassling MJ, and he finds out the real meaning of pain... Please review! 


	2. Confrontation

WELL, AFTER A REVIEW FROM ANOTHER MEMBER (YES, I DID LISTEN AND I SUPPORT YOUR THINKING), I'VE DECIDED TO STEP IT UP A BIT. HOPE YOU ENJOY.  
  
Peter slammed his mask onto the floor, sweating from a hard day's work. His wrists had been oozing webbing for a while now, giving him the impression his silk sacs were infected. The only relief was shooting webbing, which, since it usually disintegrates within hours, he was doing in his room. He'd just point and shoot. Once, he got so much webbing on the wall, the wall started to press in. So, he was out all day, swinging building to building, using up all his webbing. He plopped down on the E-Z chair, and flipped on the TV. "Breaking news! According to officials, a band of rogue military personnel have taken an office building hostage. We have confirmed the names of three: Colonel Raytheon of the Air Force, who seems to be the leader of the group, has issued a statement as follows, 'We will not give up this establishment unless Spider-Man shows his face to the world, or we will kill everyone in this building, and then implode it to its foundation.' Now, the others are confirmed to be Lieutenant Colonel James Saxton of the Army, and Major Lionel Hilt of the Marines." Before the reporter had stopped speaking, Peter was on his way out, swinging building to building into the horizon.  
  
Although he had no idea what building the news was talking about, it was pretty easy to spot with all the police cars and camera crews around. As he swung up to the top of an adjacent building, he looked down to see the police looking up at him in a pleading manner. "Man, I get so tired of all this," Peter mumbled to himself. He looked at the building, which he found out it was, none other, than an old OsCorp building, now converted to a computer analyzing plant. He spied dozens of military personnel walking around inside. Then out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a commotion going on inside. Two men, their insignias indicating Second Lieutenants, were struggling with a rather burly man who appeared to be in his mid- twenties. Peter thought to run in and stop it, but decided to watch for a second. Then, a man, appearing to be a Captain, pulled something out from one of the desks; an XM-29, which is only accessible to military high command, and wasn't even in service yet. With 'smart' bullets and computerized sights and firing mechanisms, it was very lethal. The Captain pointed it at the man, and just as he was about to shoot, Peter swung from the building and smashed through the window. The crash made the Captain jerk in surprise, and instead of hitting the burly man, hit one of the Second Lieutenants, instantly killing him. "What the f-!" The man's swear was cut short as Peter shot his webbing in a glob, clogging the man's mouth. The other military personnel swarmed him with another flurry of bullets, as they had done earlier. This time, Peter ducked behind a metal desk, which managed to block the bullets. He heard something land next to him, and he looked over to see an incendiary grenade lying next to him. Without thinking, he picked up the grenade and threw it out the window, where it exploded in midair, sending the police, S.W.A.T., and civilians ducking for cover. Then, he heard a very commanding voice. The kind of voice that would make you stand at attention even if you weren't military. "Cease fire, dammit! We want him alive!" All the firing stopped and everyone but Peter was standing at attention. Peter shot a glance at the window and saw the reflection of the Colonel walking toward the desk he was hiding behind. "Spider-Man, I presume. You can get up now. No one will shoot you." "Bull. As soon as I get up, every gun will be unloaded on me." The Colonel stopped walking toward him, and did an about-face. "Any magazines or tubs still in a weapon will be removed! Toss them over the desk! Expel any rounds still in the chamber!" Peter heard bullets dropping from the chambers and the clicking and snapping of all the magazines and tubs being removed from M-16s, XM-29s, Berettas, M-14s, and numerous others. Every soldier tossed the clips and tubs over the desk until dozens were lying at Peter's feet. Finally, the Colonel took out his sidearm, jettisoned the clip, and tossed it into the pile. "There. We're unarmed. Now we talk." Peter slowly and cautiously stood, and found himself face to face with Colonel Raytheon. The Colonel held out his hand, which Peter grasped uneasily. "Colonel Raytheon of the Air Force. You are?" "Spider- Man, sir," Peter said, surprising himself by saying "sir." "No, your real name, son." "You know I won't tell you that," Peter said firmly. "Tell us now, or we'll make you say it," the Colonel said, suddenly losing his friendly tone of voice. "Listen, I'd say it if it weren't a danger to anybody. Now, just go downstairs and tell the police you surrender, and we're all happy, okay?" "Lieutenant Sanders! Fire!" Peter heard a 'thwip' sound, and everything went black. 


	3. Interrogation

Peter opened his eyes groggily. Confused, he looked around slowly not knowing where was. Finally, the memories came back to him. Colonel Raytheon, the shooting, and being hit by the tranquilizer dart. He realized suddenly his mask was gone. He retained the rest of his costume, except his wrists were bound by wire and there was heavy layers of duct tape over his silk sacs. His feet were also bound, and he was in an armless steel chair his hands behind the back and feet bound in the center with wires tied around the legs, allowing very, very limited movements. The chair was bolted to the floor, making it so he could not do anything. He looked around the room. He could make out a dim light, a one way mirror, and two heavily armed guards at the only doorway, which was sealed by a very thick bolted door. He figured he was in the basement, since it looked like no office building, and they could not have left due to the fact there were police and all sorts of military and police officials surrounding the building. "Hey," he said to the guards, who gave no response. "I said, HEY!" he yelled. One of the guards gave him a look-over, then just resumed his composure. "Where am I?!" he yelled, this time to no one in particular, since he knew the guards weren't going to answer. "You're in the basement of the building," Colonel Raytheon's voice came through an intercom on the ceiling. "Let me out!" "Not until you tell us who you are." "You've seen my face, so just let. Me. GO!." "Guards," the Colonels voice came through the intercom in a flat tone. The guards walked toward him, with two rods in in their hands. The first guard, a slim man with brown hair and green eyes, raised his rod in the air, and brought it down with all his effort. The rod struck Peter in the groin, searing and literally blinding him with indescribable pain. The other guard, a rather large man, the one who gave Peter the look-over, swung his stick at Peter's head. Peter, still dazed and gasping from the first blow, managed to tilt his head, making the man overshoot and hit the other guard un the chest. The slim guard went down like a ton of bricks, fainting as soon as he hit the floor. Peter realized the rods were electrified, with a small battery at the base of the handle, grounded by a rubber grip as to not shock the guards. He was struck again and again. The guard that had fainted didn't stay down for long, but when he woke up, he was furious and lashed at Peter with ferocity. Peter was bleeding from his mouth, nose, and ears, screaming so loud the guards almost had to stop to cover their ears. Finally, the Colonels voice came through the intercom, "Alright, cease!" The guards stopped and stepped away, once again taking their positions at the door. "Ready to tell us? Or do we need to continue this little charade?" Colonel Raytheon said mockingly. "I'll...never tell," Peter gasped. "Alright. Guards! Another round! This time, break out the sharpies. He'll love that." The guards opened their breast pouches on their vests and took out what looked like a razor, and screwed it to the end of their electric Bobby clubs. The guards advanced slowly, intimidating Peter, making him paranoid. The large guard struck first, hitting Peter in the stomach. The razor opened it up, along with an excruciating electric shock. Peter gasped and sputtered, almost fainting from pain. In his stupor, he had a thought. He tensed his arms as hard as he could, shooting his silk sacs with such force the webbing blew through the duct tape. The guards did not seem to notice while they were striking at him with the sides of their clubs, sparing the razor for moments at a time, where they would tap him with it, opening a small cut and electrifying him, watching Peter cry out in agony. He found the wires were twisted around each other, so he worked his thumbs around and started to undo them. Under the wire was a plastic binding. It was no problem, however since he was strong enough to pull it apart. Colonel Raytheon must have seen him undoing his restraints, for as soon as he got the plastic binding undone, the Colonel's voice shouted over the intercom, "KNOCK HIM OUT!" Before he was done yelling his order, Peter's hands shot up and delivered a powerful blow the large guard's stomach. The guard doubled over in pain, breathless. Peter then brought his fist onto the guards head, knocking him out. The slim guard tried to strike with the razor club, but Peter grabbed the shaft and yanked it away from the guard, then cracked him over the head with it. The guard went down, unconscious. Peter grabbed the slim guard and reached into his pockets. He found a pair of clippers, and cut through the wires around his feet. He kicked out of them and stood up, looking directly into the one-way mirror. He looked back at the guards and proceeded to wrap them in a cocoon of silk. All this time, the Colonel was watching Peter, not making a move. Peter turned toward the mirror, and slammed his fist through it. He fought his way through the glass into the small interrogation chamber, where the Colonel was waiting. "Pretty shoddy restraints, Colonel." It's an office building. It's all we could find," the Colonel replied flatly. Five guards appeared at the door, armed to the teeth with rifles, semi and full automatic sidearms, concussion and incendiary grenades, bowie knives and body armor. The guards took a step forward and Peter shot a burst of webbing at one of the guard's rifle, then pulled back and caught it as it was flying toward him. The guard didn't react at all, and simply removed his .44 Magnum from his belt, and pointed it at Peter. BLAM! 


	4. Casualties

Of course, Peter's spider senses had warned him of the incoming threat, and narrowly avoided the bullet by deflecting it with the guard's rifle he had stolen. It struck the butt of the rifle, then ricocheted through the ceiling panel above his head. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! A flurry of bullets shot toward him. Same guard, same .44. Peter deflected them as he had done before; raising the rifle, deflecting them. One hit the magazine, and yet another struck near the hammer, rendering the now mangled M-16 useless. Tossing it aside, he proceeded to rush the guards. POPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOP! The nearest guard, a tall middle-aged man with short brown hair and brown eyes, reached for the safety on his M-16. Before he could switch it off, Peter vaulted off the wall and delivered an almost lethal kick to the side of his head. The other guard with the .44, a tall man with a buzz-cut and blue eyes, rose his .44. CLICK! The guard looked at it, puzzled. CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! It was out of ammo. Before the guard could process this, Peter shot a wad of webbing, hitting him in the face, blinding him and cutting off his air. Peter shoved him through the remainder of the glass on the one-way mirror, and onto the other two unconscious guards in the webbing cocoon. His head struck the floor, knocking him out. Peter shot looks all around. No general. "Damn!" Peter exclaimed when he realized the General was gone. He ran down the hallway to the stairs. He continued to sprint up, floor after floor. Poking his head out of the stairwell door, he gazed into a large conference room. There was one guard with his back to him on the other end of the room, guarding another doorway on the opposite end. Peter, being as quiet as humanly (and as arachnidly) possible, crept up the wall, and up to the bare white ceiling. Crawling across it, he positioned himself directly over the guard's head. Reaching down, he pinched the guard's neck hard. THUD! The guard went down without a peep. "I knew that Vulcan nerve pinch wasn't just a concept," Peter whispered to himself in amusement. He flipped off the ceiling, landing crouched close to the carpeted floor. Inching slowly to the door, he spied about a dozen soldiers in the next room, lounging around. Some were just sitting around, some were playing cards, and some were even sleeping in big padded executive chairs.  
"Hey, Jack!" one soldier yelled towards Peter's direction, not looking up from his magazine. "Yo! Jack!" One of the soldiers looked over at the doorway. Peter propped the guard up against the doorway just as the soldier's gaze landed on him. "Hehe. Asleep. JACK!" The same soldier threw a beer can at Jack's head. WHAP! It hit the guard's head hard. Now, if you have ever read up on the Vulcan nerve pinch, you would know a hit to the head could wake up the individual who has been pinched. "Huh?" The guard was knocked awake, leaning against the doorway. "Rise and shine, sleepy- head!" Jack looked around, confused. He rubbed the section of his neck where he'd been pinched. "Hm. Musta fell asleep. Sorry." Jack surveyed the room, swearing he didn't just fall asleep. He turned around, and looked straight into the eyes of Peter. "Who-whoomph!" the guard uttered, right before Peter belted him in the stomach. Jack gave a gasp of breathlessness, just as Peter brought his knee up into his head. WHAM! Jack flew back, hitting his head once more on the side of a desk right outside the door. "Fire!" all the other guards in the room rose their weapons and began firing. POPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOP! One guard, a Captain with a name patch that said Lowd on it, managed to score a glancing blow to Peter's calf. Stunned by the blow, Peter stopped for a split second. He was still one second too late, and another soldier, dressed in fatigues, burst in with a very large, very deadly heavy machine gun. CLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKCLACK! The 16- millimeter bullets tore up anything in their way. Peter's spider-sense kicked in at the last second, allowing him to dodge many of the rounds. Peter tended to try his absolute best to make sure nobody was ever killed, but he knew that this time, it was either kill or be killed. He rolled across the floor, the rounds tearing up the floor behind him. The Major holding the machine gun was too focused on Peter to notice where he was heading. Peter rolled behind the Captain that had previously hit him. WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP! Rounds pelted the Captain like he was tissue paper, blowing through him, spraying blood everywhere. He fell to the floor hard, wincing as he hit. Peter noticed, and crawled over to him. Grabbing the Captain's sidearm, a .44 Magnum, he clicked off the safety and fired twice at the major who was shooting at him. WHUMP! CRACK! The second round hit him in the head, killing him instantly. All the other soldiers, who had taken cover during the Major's rampage, looked upon his body in shock and terror. That soon turned to anger, however, and they all removed their weapons. Peter, still lying by the dying Captain, picked up his M-16, set it to automatic, and sprayed the carpeted floor by the soldiers' feet with rounds. The soldiers, too wary to continue fighting, ran out of the room.  
  
Peter, stunned by the events which unfolded so suddenly not 5 minutes ago, rose from the floor. "Please..." Peter looked down to see the Captain looking at him pleadingly. "Don't leave..," the Captain whispered. Peter surveyed the room once more, and knelt beside the Captain, who was now pale and sweating. Peter removed the Captain's vest, only to find the most gruesome sight he'd ever seen; the rounds from the machine gun had nearly torn the Captain in half, leaving him connected just by his now exposed spine and a few strips of flesh. The Captain, now on the verge of death, spoke to Peter, his voice full of rage. "I never...wanted to do this. They...forced us. You were my hero...and I tried to kill you," the captain struggled "You get the bastards, Spiderman. Get 'em..." The Captain's head lolled to one side and dropped, lifeless. Peter fought back tears, knowing he was a sitting duck and that the other soldiers had alerted the rest of the building of his location. On one hand, if he tried to escape, he would be seen, and his identity would be revealed, endangering Aunt May and MJ. In the second, he knew he would not be able to secure the building without deadly force. Letting his rage get the better of him, he decided on one thing; no one would die, but he would get out without endangering anyone else. Hearing the sounds of boots stomping toward his location, his brain kicked into overdrive. He went around the room, finding the heaviest objects he could find and barricading the doors shut. The hardest was the door that he got through the conference room from, since it was a sliding door. As quick as he could, he found a roll of heavy duty steel wire in the dead Major's fatigue pockets. He tied off the door at the handle to a utility pipe in the wall, courtesy of a hole he put there, and pushed two desks in front to be safe. The two doors now sealed, he had to escape. He broke through one of the plate glass windows in the room. Looking down about ten stories, he saw news crews and police teams. He yanked his head back in before they could get a chance to see him, as the breaking of the windows had gotten their attention. He knew he could not be seen.  
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! The other soldiers outside the doors began to pound on them, trying their best to enter. Peter now knew he absolutely had to leave. Near panic, he frantically searched the desk for something to cover his face with. He ran over to the Captain's body, knowing all Air Force personnel always carried gas masks in a pouch on their belts. He found the pouch and unrolled it. The wire holding the door shut was doing fine, but the flimsy plastic handle was not, under the stress of soldiers pushing on it. He put the gas mask over his head, and bailed out through the window before a team of heavily armed soldiers broke through the conference room door. Nobody noticed the heavy machine gun tucked into Peter's pants.  
  
Peter knew full well camera crews and pedestrians were filming and taking pictures of him, but no one could make him out through the gas mask. He crawled up another four stories, checking every window on his way. He went one window too far, when a heavily armed Colonel noticed him, and began squeezing off rounds from his XM-29. The rounds penetrated the window, sending glass everywhere. Peter got a good hold on the wall, and swung through foot first through the window, landing on the Colonel, and knocking him out cold. Peter picked up the XM-29 and fired at the nearest guards, who had done their best to get their weapons upholstered and ready. The rifle was set to the smart bullets, and he accidentally ended up tearing the first guard to shreds when it exploded not a foot from him. Peter aimed lower, and shot the second guard in the leg, sending blood everywhere. Peter, knowing it was too late for the first guard he shot, went over to the second guard, a Private First Class in the Army, and tore off one of the guard's sleeves. He tied it around the guard's right leg, stopping the worst of the bleeding. The guard was now passed out from the blood loss, but Peter knew he would be fine. He scoped the room around him. It wasn't much; a few chairs, a desk, and two doors on either side. There were stacks of papers and a briefcase on the desk, but he was more interested in the stuff that surrounded the desk; military supplies, ranging from first-aid kits to what he swore were rocket launcher cases. They were stacked up against the wall, or so he thought. Pushing a few cases aside, he came across another stack of cases. He pushed through until he found the actual wall, which was about twelve feet back from where the wall of cases began. He locked the doors and opened up a first aid kit. He found alcohol, band-aids, gauze, a tourniquet, some syringes, medical tape, aspirin, and a few other things, including penicillin. He removed the alcohol, uncapped it and poured it on the Private First Class's legs. He removed the band-aids and placed them on the smaller wounds, while he packed the larger wounds with gauze and wrapped medical tape around it. Thank God Uncle Ben had taught him proper medicine. Removing one of the syringes, he wiped down a spot on the Private First Class's arm with alcohol, and injected the penicillin. After he finished with the Private First Class, he went over to the Colonel. He stripped the Colonel of his weapons and opened a few of the first-aid kits before finding what he needed; tranquilizer. He removed another syringe and filled it with the tranquilizer. He injected it into the Colonel. He went over to the other guard, which, according to the patch on his shoulder, was a Sergeant. Peter checked for a pulse, but it was too late; the Sergeant was dead.  
Peter already had been through enough. He'd been beaten, shot at, and emotionally traumatized enough. What came over him, he didn't know. He knew he shouldn't have killed the personnel, but he did. He knew now, for sure, he would probably have to kill much more. He dropped to his knees, and prayed. Not usually religious, he still thought it was best God knew it was for the betterment of life. He dug through the cases, finding what he needed. Right before he left, he had grabbed the Major's heavy machine gun from the floor. It was a chain feed, and it was nearly empty; maybe 50 rounds were left in it. Sure enough, he found ammo boxes filled with 16- millimeter chain feeds. He grabbed two, and placed them aside. He surveyed the Colonel. He knew that if he wanted to get out, he needed some sort of disguise. He stripped the Colonel down to his boxers and put them on after removing his own tattered clothing. It was close to his size, a little looser, though. He put the chain feeds in his thigh pouch on the Colonels fatigues, and slung the machine gun over his shoulder so it was resting on his back. He grabbed two Bowie knives from the cases and sticking them into his belt. He put a flashlight, a .44 with extra clips, a walkie talkie to look like he was an actual Colonel, and grabbed an XM-29 from the case, loading it with dumb and smart bullets, along with about four extra clips. He dragged the Private First Class away from the door, along with the Colonel and dead Sergeant, made a space in the wall of cases, and placed them all in it, hiding them from all angles to anyone who may enter. He grabbed a rag from one of the cases and wiped away the blood on the walls and floor, also stashing them with the personnel. For some reason, Peter broke down, right then and there. He sobbed for what seemed like hours before letting hunger get the best of him. He hadn't eaten for nearly a day, and he needed something quick. He looked for ten minutes before finding a case filled with MREs. He opened a few, and ate their contents. Not bad, but it was the best he'd eaten so far. Well, he thought, let's do it.  
  
He unlocked both doors and crept out into a hallway. He peeked briefly out, just enough to survey the situation. There weren't many people around; about two or three at the very end of the hallway. Explaining why they did not hear the gunshots. He did not want any more death, so he grabbed a charcoal pack from a small case near his feet, and rubbed it around his eyes and nose. Searching through the desk and found a pair of dark sunglasses. He put them on, and put on his Air Force hat that the Colonel had on. He thought it was best not to look shaken as he was, for fear the other soldiers might notice. He caught a glimpse of himself on the window; he was barely recognizable. He opened the door and briskly strode out. The guard in the hall pointed their weapons at him, but quickly put them down and saluted him. He returned the salute stiffly, trying to look like a true blue weathered Colonel. It his best commanding voice, he demanded, "Major! Report!" The Major he was talking to, without looking at him, began speaking, "Spider-Man's loose, sir. Sentries ten floors down reported him crawling through a window, heading upwards. So far, there hasn't been a sign of him. General Raytheon gave the order to stand down, sir." Peter stood for a second, silent, trying to make himself look professional. "Alright. Do not leave from this spot. General's orders." "Yes, sir!" the soldiers said in unison. He strode past them briskly, going down the stairs. He stopped about five stories down. He opened the door, and walked straight into General Raytheon. "Whoa! Watch it, Colonel! These are my good fatigues." Peter saluted him and said, in the deepest sounding voice he could muster, "Yes, sir! Sorry, sir." The General eyed him for a few seconds before responding, "Colonel, do you have a cold or something? You sound kind of congested." Peter gave a fake cough and replies, "Yes, sir. Fighting allergies, that's all." The General said, "Alright. Carry on, Colonel." Peter saluted stiffly, and walked away to nowhere in particular. "Say, Colonel?" the General called back to Peter. ""Yes, sir?" Peter said, now nervous. "It would be a lot more convincing if you didn't have spider silk seeping out of your wrists. Get 'im!" The General had figured it all out, seeing as Peter's silk sacs were still infected and oozing.  
A dozen Air Force, Army, and Marine soldiers, ranging from Privates to Majors, swarmed into the hallway. Peter tried to run, only to find both doors he was aiming for were locked. Nowhere else to go, he raised his XM- 29, and fired into the crowd. He aimed low to minimize casualties. The three or four soldiers that were hit fell like their legs were kicked out from under them, hitting the floor hard. A few tried to shoot at him, but his spider-sense kicked in, allowing him to evade the rounds. He fired wildly now, missing all shots. He switched it to dumb bullets, and fired low once more. It did not have as much effect as the smart bullets had, but it did the job. Two soldiers were hit, and tried to limp away before falling to the floor. Before he knew it, he was out of rounds. He was about cornered, and knowing he couldn't escape, whipped out the huge heavy machine gun that was slung around his back. The crowd of soldiers stopped dead, not daring to challenge the 16-millimeter bullets. Peter aimed it at the crowd, then quickly turned it on the door, shooting through the lock, letting the door swing open. He turned the gun back onto the crowd, which had not moved, and backed through the door. He fired a few times as warning shots, then bolted. He ran everywhere, not knowing where to go. He could hear boots storming through every hallway, doorway, and room toward him. There were five doors in the room he was currently in, with nothing to block them with. He was panicking, knowing if he couldn't escape, he would have to start shooting. He felt a blast of cool air in his hair. He gazed up, and noticed a vent. It was small, but if he tried he could make it. He jumped as hard as he could, popping the vent cover upwards. He threw the machine gun into the vent, followed by the XM-29 and .44. He grabbed onto the side of the vent, and swung himself upwards. Right before he slid the vent shut, he fired a round from the .44 into the window, shattering it, right before dozens of heavily armed soldiers stormed into the room. "Where'd he go!?" Peter recognized the General's voice, and the officer stepped forward, sticking his head out of the window, looking up and down. ZIP! POP! A round from the ground barely missing the General's head, entering the vent shaft. "DAMN! The police are shooting. Froy, Peterson, and Grouton! Load up and return some warning fire. We can't have 'em shooting just yet." All the soldiers filed out, muttering to themselves. What they didn't know was that the bullet that barley missed the General, was now causing Peter to bleed internally as he lay unconscious in the vent. 


	5. Struggle

All while Peter lay inside the vent, the military was scrambling to find him. Everything sounded so far away, so distant. He felt the warmth of his own blood under him, leaking through the grate. It wouldn't be long before a soldier entered and spotted the blood, therefore bringing his death sentence. He rose carefully and weakly to his hands and knees, slowly creeping, inch by inch, in the direction of the light source in the vent. As he was crawling, he carefully listened for any sign of soldier activity. His Air Force uniform was ragged and covered in his blood, the straps of the XM-29 wrapped around his shoulder, his heavy machine gun helping to slide his bloody legs behind him. His .44 was securely holstered, but not locked. His arm slipped on a seam, and he thudded to the metal. The .44 discharged, grazing his hip and penetrating the thin sheet metal below him. "Dammit! My shoulder!" Peter heard the muffled sound of a soldier yelling in pain. Receiving one of the biggest adrenaline rushes of his life, he forgot the pain shooting through his body as he snatched up the heavy machine gun and bolted as best he could through the vent. "There!" POPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOP! Bullets of small and large caliber blew through the thin sheet metal, penetrating Peter's feet twice. He rose the heavy machine gun, and with split-second calculations, determined the angle of the bullet holes, and fired opposite that angle. CLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKCLACK! The huge bullets tore through the metal, and Peter heard the unmistakable sound of the bullets piercing flesh. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" Peter heard the screams of agony from the soldiers below him. "Hank? Hank!? He's not breathing! MEDIC!" Peter heard the soldiers that either weren't hurt or weren't badly scramble to Hank's side. He took that time to, as quietly as he could, sneak around the left corner of the vent, into a whole other room. He slouched down, mainly because of the burning, throbbing pain in his feet, also because the vent was, at this location, at least twice as wide, allowing him some foot room. He wondered why is was wider, but he soon found the answer. He felt a very cold blast of air enter the vent. He shivered before another blast came, colder then the last, and nearly blew him over. It was so cold, in fact, that his fingers were going numb. He snatched up the heavy machine gun and broke through the grate nearest to him, falling about twelve feet before hitting the bottom. "AH!" Peter gasped as his feet hit the floor, buckling beneath him. At least, that's what he thought. The fact was, they didn't buckle, they slipped. On ice, to be exact. He shivered once more, and surveyed his surroundings. He must have gone around to the cafeteria, because he was actually inside a giant freezer, filled with hamburger packages, boxes labeled 'SPAM', and a crate of soft drinks tucked in the corner. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! "Who's in there!?" Peter heard a soldier outside the freezer door yell out. He yelled in the gruffest voice he could, "Help!" The soldier opened the door, but Peter was ready, clinging to the wall above the door, reaching down and pinching the soldier's neck hard. The man dropped like a brick. Peter dragged the soldier outside, and gave him a look over. He was in his late twenties, early thirties with black hair with a crew cut and wearing a Marine uniform. The name patch said Irgon on it. He was carrying an M4, a Glock, an Uzi, and a small 9 millimeter. He had a hand grenade on his shoulder, and extra clips on his utility belt. Peter took the Glock and Uzi. He slung the Glock over his soldier, and tucked the 9 millimeter and Uzi into his waistband. He left the M4, but not before twisting the barrel into a 90 degree angle and taking the hand grenade and putting into his pocket.  
  
"Colonel! Where are you going, sir?" Peter was stopped by a Major guarding the General's room two floors below the freezer. "Um, gotta see the General." "Well, he's busy, sir. And-what the-!?" Peter cut the Major's exclamation short by clogging his mouth with webbing and smashing him over the head with the butt of the Glock. He dragged him into a nearby closet and disabled the Major's weapons. He grabbed the Major's glasses and put them on. His vision immediately became clouded, so he took them off, walked to the door to where the General was, then put them back on. He still had some face-paint on, so he was barely recognizable. He opened the door, and almost immediately, a dozen weapons were trained on him. Until a Lieutenant Colonel exclaimed, "Attention on deck!." All the weapons were lowered and he was saluted. The General was at a desk directly in front of Peter, and had a small boom box on the desk, listening to Rammstein at a low volume. He had his back to Peter, and didn't even bother to look behind him. "Well? What do you need?" Peter put back on the gruff tone and said, "Oh, not much. Just need you to sign some papers." Peter whipped out his Glock and Uzi, which were set on automatic, and fired at all the guard's legs. FTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFT! POPOPOPOPOPOPOP! The Uzi and Glock made separate noises, as the Glock was silenced and the Uzi was not. Before even one guard could take the safety off his weapon, Peter had scored hits to their legs. Some of the guards attempted to get up or raise their weapons, but Peter aimed the heavy machine gun at them, which did a pretty good job of stopping them dead. "I'll get you all First Aid after I'm through. But for now, relax." The soldiers quickly forgot about Peter and tended to their wounds. The General still sat with his back to Peter, and Peter looked over the General's shoulder, spying about seven TVs, all with security cameras. "I was waiting for you. That Colonel uniform isn't fooling anyone. We found the real Colonel and two other soldiers in the supply room. One was dead." "I'm sorry about that General. Your boys were shooting at me. I had no choice." The General finally turned and looked him straight in the eye. "Yes, you did. They didn't have real ammo in those firearms. They were plaster rounds! They delivered an electrical shock strong enough to knock you out. You wouldn't have been hurt!" Peter took the information in with shock. He collapsed suddenly. The soldier holding the tranquilizer gun finally gave in to blood loss and passed out. 


	6. Feuer Frei

Peter awoke later, unrestrained on the same floor he fell on. He rose weakly, trying to clear his head. He could hear yells and gunfire from down the hallways. He peeked outside into the hallway, where he saw a few Army and Air Force officers firing down through the window with MP-90s and M-16s. He pulled his head back in just as a bullet ricocheted off the ceiling and zipped by his head. He reached for his .44, but found he was without weapons. He patted himself down, looking for even an inkling of a weapon. He opened his vest, and, to his great relief found a small 9 millimeter Beretta. He held it close, and entered the hallway. He faced the soldiers whose backs were to him, and shot as much webbing as he could at them. He pulled them away from the window, wrapped them up, and knocked them out swiftly with a few knocks to the head from the Beretta. He grabbed one of the Air Force officer's MP-90, and the Army officer's M-16, along with a few extra clips. He disabled the rest of the weapons, and rushed off up the stairs.

He ran up about five flights before he heard another round of gunfire, this time from a lone Marine. He fired a round from the MP-90 into the Marine's leg, then knocked him out from a hit to the head from the butt of the M-16. He was really missing his heavy machine gun. He ran down the hallway, checking every room along the way. After checking all the rooms, which were completely vacant, he walked to one of the nearest phone. He picked it up, only to find it had no dial tone. So, he went over to the nearest computer, after barricading the rooms shut, and booted it up. He logged onto a Messenger and prayed Harry was at his desk.

Sure enough, the reply came through, "Hey, Peter. What's up?"

Peter typed back, "Do you know any military personnel?"

Harry responded, "Yeah, of course. I am the owner of an aerospace company, you know."

Peter typed, "Well, do have any of the numbers?"

Harry then responded, "Yeah, a Lieutenant Colonel in the Air Force."

Peter responded, "I need it."

Harry sent through the number, and Peter signed off. He just hoped one of the solders outside had a cell phone he could use. He went down the nearest flight of stairs, and found a floor packed with personnel. He decided it wasn't the time for stealth, so he simply fired into the crowd low. Returning fire was instantaneous. He heard a sound that was music to his ears; CLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKCLACK! He dove behind the door, which was a pretty heavy metal, but he could see that even Uzis were denting it, so he figured he wasn't safe if that heavy machine gun went off again. He fired more from both the M-16 and MP-90. Firing and holding them were difficult, as his feet were still in pretty bad shape. He watched as a few dozen soldiers dropped, but still more fired. He kept firing until the ammo in the MP-90 and M-16 were spent, then fired from his Beretta, until the clips were used. After the firing ceased, he opened his eyes. He wasn't even aware of him closing them. The floor was slick with blood. Luckily, all his shots were leg shots. However, he knew if he had hit the femoral artery on any of the soldiers, they were not going to survive. He checked all of the soldiers, and finally found a cell phone. It was from an Air Force officer with a name patch labeled "Wry" on it. He dialed the number Harry gave him. After about four rings, it picked up. "Lieutenant Colonel Neil Rivers, United States Air Force, how may I direct you?" "Lieutenant Colonel Rivers, are you aware of the situation in New York City?" Peter asked. "Yes, I am. Why?"

"Because I need some major help over here."

"Who is this?"

"Someone on your side. That's all I'm saying."

"Where are you?"

"Inside the building your General Raytheon annexed."

"What can I do to help?"

"I don't care. Anything. All's I have is the NYPD, and that isn't enough to take on half the U.S. military."

"I can contact the President, but it would take a while. I've got my hands full."

"Well dump whatever's in your hands and get some help!"

"Okay. I have an idea. Check your surrounding area around the building. About how many people are there?"

"I don't know. Maybe a little over 100."

"Find a way to get them a safe distance away."

Peter put the Lieutenant Colonel on hold and switched to the other line. He dialed the police department. "New York police department, how can I help you?" came the receptionist's voice. Do you have a chief at the old OsCorp building?"

"Yes, we do."

"Can I get his number?"

Cellular or office?"

"Cellular."

The receptionist gave Peter the number and he hung up and switched to the other line once more. He dialed the chief's number. The chief picked up immediately, "Police Chief Frank Brody."

"Get the people away from the building."

"Who is this?"

"Spider-Man. Do it!"

Peter gazed out the window, and sure enough, saw the crowd of people moving back. In front was a man with a cell phone in his hand waving the crowd back. That cell phone dropped as he looked to the sky east of the building. Peter saw the parts of the crowd running. He looked at where the Chief was looking. Outside the window, maybe a half mile away, were eight A-10s, coming in fast. Peter dropped hard just as he heard the 30mm cannons let loose, blowing everything apart, some going clear through the building. Glass and debris flew, whizzing by Peter's head. Peter ducked behind a foot inch think steel wall, and just about fainted as a massive bullet cut through it like butter, continuing through the building. Huge explosions rocked the building as the A-10s fired AGM-65 Mavericks and dropped Mk.80 GBUs into the building. Peter bolted as fast as his legs could move down the stairs. He stopped dead in his tracks as he ran right into General Raytheon. "Stop right where you are, Spider-Man!" Peter put his hands up, and turned slowly, looking right into the barrel of the General's .44 Magnum. Explosions continued to rock the building. After a few seconds of dead silence between them, the floor gave way. The General fell, just before he caught the edge of the floor, hanging above a drop of almost forty stories. Peter thought about turning away, but grabbed him and pulled him up. Peter stripped the General of his weapons, and ran up one story to the nearest window. Peter shot a glob of webbing at it, shattering it. He dove through, still clinging to the General, and fired a strand of webbing across the street to the other building, and swung over, then down onto the ground, the General screaming the whole way. He hit the ground, and threw the General into the arms of the police, before running and swinging his way back home.

Two weeks later...

"Here you go. A special dinner for a special nephew." Aunt may placed the turkey on the table. Aunt May did this after each grade report. Peter, as always, had passed all his classes with straight As. Harry was there, too. Mostly because they were having the dinner at Harry's house, since his kitchen was the only one big enough to handle Aunt May's cooking. Halfway through the meal, the phone rang. Harry's butler brought it to Harry, who answered, "Harry Osborne." Harry nodded and gave it to Peter. "It's for you." Peter swallowed the turkey in his mouth and answered. "Hello?"

"Hello, Peter."

"Who's this?"

"You know who this is," came the General's voice through the phone, as a red laser appeared on Harry's forehead.


End file.
